


Door 66

by thenonsenseprophet (ProfessionalCouchPotato)



Series: Ahsoka Displaced [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Mind Control, Non-Graphic Violence, Non-graphic References to Suicide (of unnamed clone troopers)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:40:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29542494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessionalCouchPotato/pseuds/thenonsenseprophet
Summary: If there's one thing Ahsoka knows, it's that war never really ends, only evolves, with the same sorry bastards getting caught up fighting for what they don't understand (or aren't even aware of, as the case may be)
Series: Ahsoka Displaced [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2164395
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	Door 66

**Author's Note:**

> Day four, today wan't so bad.
> 
> PLEASE BE WARNED. This chapter is the darkest one yet, although not overall. Read the tags carefully and note that the rating for this installment has been bumped up to Mature.

It has been days, and Ahsoka has walked a parsec through the in-between. Door after door after door has passed her by, and door after door after door stretches as far as she can see. 

Every so often, the path will branch off, once notably splitting in half to curl around several straight tracks that run parallel to each other. There is every indication that even on that impossible path, she would walk on, only discerning the oddity in gravity by the meandering of the other paths. 

And along every twist, turn, and interminable stretch are the doors. Their shapes vary, but their lack of response is uniform. 

On edge, Ahsoka chooses a left fork in the path, unconcerned with the decision after so long, and so many identically meaningless choices. All of them seem to lead to roughly the same place, wherever that may be. She had given up days ago trying to assign meaning to the chaotic deviations, much as it rankles to make such selections with no idea where they may take her. 

It is the lack of anything to do that grates on her nerves most of all. The doors remain obstinately dormant, the scenery leaves much to be desired, and she doesn’t even have the distraction of fatigue, because she has not felt the need to rest or eat since Ezra had led to this accursed place. 

She has been in constant motion for the better part of fifteen years. This purposelessness feels like some sort of torture. It feels like  _ helplessness. _

There is a flash of white to Ahsoka’s left, and her heart soars. It falters again when she turns to find only the Morai bird, ever her faithful companion, perched atop a nearby door. 

How had it gotten here? She cannot recall. Nor does it seem of much importance, other than as a distraction from the monotony of the in-between. With a sigh, Ahsoka drops into a loose cross-legged pose on the ground… or whatever it is. She still avoids looking down if at all possible.

“Hello again,” she says to the little green and white creature. It chirps and shuffles along its perch. 

“Yes, it’s good to see you, too,” Ahsoka smiles. “I don’t suppose  _ you  _ know what this is all about?” 

A slow blink, which could convey  _ I thought you knew? _ is her only response. Ahsoka shakes her head ruefully, and peers into the door absently. 

She is somewhat surprised to see something moving in what she had assumed was emptiness. But then again, what's the point of endless doors if only some of them open?

Ahsoka leans forward, willing the shadowy outlines to resolve themselves, and gets more than she had bargained for when something erupts into a fiery blaze right on the other side of the door. She leaps back, expecting to feel the heat singeing her skin, but there is nothing. 

The explosion dies away, and Ahsoka catches her first real glimpse of the scene beyond it. 

_ Carnage _ , is the first and only word that comes to mind, and Ahsoka feels the old barriers falling shut around her emotions. There is no one here to shield from but Morai, but the old habit soothes her and from behind their protection she can almost claim that all she feels, looking over the grisly scene, is acceptance and distant sorrow.

If the Clone Wars were ever this bad, she has long since repressed the memories.

The door opens into mid air above a beautiful stretch of cerulean sea, peppered lightly with gray sand island beaches. A volcano smolders benevolently on a far flung island, a stern reminder that all that has been given can just as easily be taken away. 

All it stands sentinel over now are the still smoking remains of its civilization, as its population stains the beaches red, and the bodies of white-clad men float peacefully atop the gentle waves. This idyllic land has acted as the staging ground for some horrible conflict, and Ahsoka can’t even tell who won. 

There is a scream of displaced air, all too familiar, and Ahsoka bitterly adjusts her statement: somehow, the battle is still going. 

An Imperial TIE fighter careens wildly through the air, hot on the trail of some desperate local pilot in a modified leisure cruiser. There is no way such a ship, clearly only intended for the easy task of island hopping, could evade the TIE, nor withstand its fire. Sure enough, Ahsoka watches with a numb sort of dread as the pilot misjudges a turn - and flies right into the path of another imperial fighter. The explosion, at least, is beautiful.

“I can’t watch this,” Ahsoka whispers, but cannot rip her eyes away. Her hands twitch uselessly in her lap as the TIEs make another lap of the island chain; she wishes there was something she could do to help.

Morai hoots softly, and the scene changes.

“Campaign status,” barks a man in the uniform of an imperial admiral, leaning over a holotable display. The blue light reflects oddly off his eyes, the way light shines into a very deep pit. 

Well beyond that, in the furthest corner of the room, a stormtrooper commander snaps to attention - regulation perfect - and rattles off a list of civilian and soldier casualties that makes Ahsoka’s stomach turn. The admiral smiles thinly, and only nods.

“You are dismissed, trooper,” he adds after a moment of thought. “Deploy the infantry to sterilize the area and put out any fires. Recall any men who might have survived, and prepare for immediate redeployment. I have word that the Emperor wishes to remind the Hutts of the strength of our glorious Empire.” 

This last is said with something astonishingly close to irony, but it provokes no reaction from the commander, who remains at rigid attention until the admiral sighs and waves his hand in dismissal. The commander salutes again, robotically, and marches from the bridge.

“Clones,” the admiral mutters, and Ahsoka is instantly in attack mode. 

_ Follow that commander, _ she projects into the Force as loudly as she can - and nearly gets whiplash when the door seems to fly down the hall of the star destroyer. The commander’s path twists from the bridge to the communications relay to the commissary to the hangar bay, and finally to what appears to be his personal quarters. He keys in the code for the door,  _ 10-03-08 _ , steps inside, and removes his helmet.

Ahsoka is on her feet in an instant, half poised to reach through the door when her mind catches up with her. Her hand stalls out mid-air, but her surprised laugh escapes anyway.

“Commander Wolffe,” she says, because he hadn’t been known as the most memorable clone in the GAR for nothing. It must be years after the Republic’s fall, judging by the white lacing the clone’s regulation cut, but the scar that took his eye is just as livid as the day Ahsoka had met him, and the last time she had seen him. 

The commander sets his helmet on a small side table and begins to methodically remove his plastoid armor piece by piece. There is no life in the motion, just a perfect economy of action, and once he finishes, he piles up the pieces next to the bucket with all of the care they deserve - which is to say, none. He folds himself into his cramped bunk and is asleep within moments.

It is testament to the skills of those Kaminoan bastards that the commander’s control chip still functions, after all this time. In fact, Ahsoka frowns, she hadn’t had much chance to speak with the old clone after meeting up with them again on Seelos, but it couldn’t have been many years after the rise of the Empire that he had joined Gregor and Rex. 

In one of the quieter moments of their reunion on Seelos, he had mentioned the chip malfunction that had allowed him to regain control of his own mind, following that story with one about stealing a fighter from right beneath the Empire’s nose and making good his escape. 

An idea strikes Ahsoka.

Carefully, she presses her fingers through the door, satisfied when they passed the barrier with little resistance. She can’t feel the commander’s presence in the Force, but she can see him, and for now, that is all she needs. 

Narrowing her eyes, Ahsoka stretches out with her feelings and brushes deliberately against every surface in the cramped quarters. It is a process not unlike using echolocation to interpret her surroundings with her lekku, and while it is slow going, it is infinitely preferable to allowing her old ally to whither under the tender mercies of a system that sees him as worthless cannon fodder.

Her heart aches to imagine Master Koon’s reaction to all of this, and then nearly breaks in half when she imagines the circumstances of his death. Would Wolffe have--

_ Later _ , she thinks, meaning  _ never, _ and focuses her probing of the Force on where the commander is sleeping quite efficiently in his bunk. She closes her eyes, and searches vainly for the chip that sits so innocuously in his head. If she could just feel his Force signature, she is certain that she could detect the insidious little thing. Perhaps if she just reached a little further through the door… 

The commander stiffens in his sleep, and Ahsoka freezes. 

“Good soldiers…” he mumbles. “Move out.” Then he flips onto his side and returns to sleep, and Ahsoka releases a soundless sigh of relief. 

Her shoulder has just crossed the threshold, and still she can feel nothing, so, with a quick upwards glance at Morai and a plea to the Force for this to work, she sticks her head into the commander’s quarters.

Several things happen very quickly, then.

First, the Force rushes into Ahsoka’s perception, and she can now feel the commander’s signature, but she can also feel the miasma of despair that bleeds from every crack on the rotten ship, and from the commander himself. It’s like trying to breathe swamp water, and Ahsoka makes a noise halfway between disgust and sorrow.

This, of course, does not go unnoticed by commander Wolffe; he bolts upright almost before the breath has left Ahsoka’s throat, and levels a blaster at her with unerring accuracy. 

_ “Sleep,” _ Ahsoka says, rather than try to rip the gun from his grasp. The word carries so much of the Force that the commander’s eyes roll back into his head and he drops, limp, off of the bunk and directly onto the hard durasteel floor.

_ Well, in case he wanted to find an explanation for the sudden chip malfunction,  _ Ahsoka thinks woodenly,  _ that concussion will probably do. _

She snaps back into action at that thought. What she intends to do will be difficult enough without working around swelling. 

In the end, it takes no more than minutes to pinpoint the inhibitor chip. Then, with a scowl, she grabs hold of it with the Force and  _ crushes it. _

The commander jerks in his sleep, and Ahsoka feels bad. She considers just leaving, letting the commander come to his senses on his own, and devise a plan for his own escape, but it just doesn’t sit right in her mind.

Wolffe had been a commander of the GAR, well known for his weapons skill, level-headedness, and strategic expertise. But that was the past, and Ahsoka had freed too many  _ vod, _ only to watch them turn around and eat their blasters right after. 

Wolffe had managed to find Rex and Gregor before, but Ahsoka is uncertain whether her meddling will change that. Is it her responsibility to ensure that the commander has every chance of getting his freedom, despite the violation it would be to his free will? If his choice is to end his own life in compensation for his past actions, is it her place as his friend - or acquaintance, really - to step in and prevent it?

Ahsoka did not know before, and she does not know now. 

She closes her eyes and breathes, seeking some guidance from the Force, but this place is so mired in darkness that she hears nothing but the echoes of dying souls, rent too quickly from their lives and homes. 

Taking one last look at the unnaturally slumbering commander Wolffe, Ahsoka does the only thing she feels is right in an impossible situation: she says goodbye and silently wishes the man every bit of the luck he will undoubtedly need. Then, she retreats to the in-between, where Morai is waiting for her quietly.

_ Did you accomplish what you needed to do? _ She can almost imagine the creature asking.

“I hope so,” she answers out loud. With a glance at the already darkening door, Ahsoka leverages herself to her feet. Morai spreads her wings and takes off down the path Ahsoka had been following for so long. She tracks the bird’s progress until it is but a distant speck, barely distinguishable from the dim lights that litter the dark backdrop of the place. 

**Author's Note:**

> yee yee yee yee yee i am so stressed
> 
> Please if u have any thoughts leave a comment i know not many people have read this but i feel like im shouting into the void its not a good space for me rn


End file.
